Work Text:
Cold air stung Leida’s hands as she strode through the halls of the senate. The corridors were almost deserted at the late hour, mostly passing protocol droids and aides who barely looked awake. She remained silent, only inclining her head, while they often murmured “Senator,” in response.
She shivered, drawing her robes closer to her body. The senate had only recently transitioned its capital, as it did annually, and it was still taking the technicians a while to reactivate the temperature controls. The choice to relocate once again to Chandrila had not surprised her. Well located, with beautiful terrain, it was also where the New Republic had been established and elected its first chancellor. What had surprised her was that she had voted against the motion. She still wasn’t exactly sure why, but she wondered if familial shame had won over planetary pride.
Finally, she reached her office, the door sliding aside with a small swish. The interior was dark but lights soon flicked on as she stepped into the space. In accordance with Chandrilan custom, the walls were scarcely adorned, with only one or two modest statement pieces. Her staff had already left for the day, but Stekan should have been waiting for her — he had had meetings with several senators that day, and they were supposed to ride back to their apartment together.
Resigning herself to the wait, Leida turned to examine herself in the round mirror hung by the door. A tired face framed by dark hair in the Chandrilan style gazed back at her. Senator Leida Mothma. All those years ago, she had been fiercely opposed to following in her mother’s footsteps, but when the opportunity arose and with Stekan’s encouragement, she had easily won the election. And every election since.
Her mother, having finally retired as chancellor, had reached out to extend her congratulations on the morning after her victory, but Leida never responded. The elder Mothma had remained silent throughout the whole campaign, not even releasing an endorsement or message of support. To that, Leida was relieved. Let no one think she had gotten her position simply because of her heritage. But sometimes on the nights that she lay in bed, still awake, a sense of disappointment would creep into her chest.
As she continued examining herself in the mirror, something caught her eye. Turning around, she saw that the datapad on her desk had been activated. A frown creased her brow. She always made sure to turn it off and lock it whenever she wasn’t using it.
A new message was blinked at her from the screen as she picked it up. From: Mother. Message: My daughter . . .
But she swiped it away before reading further. Only now did her mother want to reach out? True, she was back on Chandrila for the first time in years, but what about the time when the bill about increasing commerce efficiency that she had publicly sponsored failed disastrously? It had been all over the holonet for weeks.
What next popped up was a schedule from her attache for the upcoming week. Full to the brim, as usual. Sighing, Leida also swiped it away, but she stiffened as she saw what was beneath it. An open file that contained classified briefings on the nature of the relationship between the New Republic and Leia Organa’s paramilitaries. She had not been looking at this earlier. A sense of unease filled her chest. Had someone tampered with her datapad? The only people who had access to this office were her staff, all of whom she trusted implicitly, and . . . Stekan.
What else could he have accessed? Her mind was racing now, as she frantically clicked through to see what was still secure, but it was hard to tell. Breath quickening, she clutched the datapad to her chest as she rushed from her office and through the darkened senate halls.
Before she reached the docking bay she slowed her steps, taking a deep breath before entering. Her driver was waiting beside her air speeder.
“Where is Stekan?” she asked, forcing calm into her voice as she addressed them.
“He took public transport,” her driver said. “His departure time was about twenty minutes ago. Do you wish to depart now?”
Leida was already stepping inside. “Yes. Please take me back to the apartment.”
“Right away, Senator.”
The lights were dark when Leida entered the residence, quickly bidding her driver goodnight. But for a faint illumination shining from the family room, it appeared their household had retired for the evening.
Leida’s fingers were gripping the datapad so tight it felt like it might crumple beneath her grip. As she stepped into the light, she saw her husband sprawled in a chair, idly watching something on a datapad of his own.
“Oh, Leida darling, you’re back,” he said, not looking up. “There’s leftovers from earlier if you want them.”
“What did you do, Stekan?” she asked frostily, lifting the datapad.
He groaned, slouching even further. “Lee-lee, if this is about me letting some of the housing staff off, I really don’t want to do this right now.”
Leida inhaled sharply as something snapped inside her chest. “Who are you spying for?” she spat. “The Hutts? Spice Runners? The First Order? It doesn’t really matter which, but why, Stekan? And don’t say money, because I know your father set you up for life.”
“Actually, it is for money,” Stekan hissed through his teeth, now ram-rod straight in his chair. “Do you know how many people I’ve had to pay off to keep getting you elected? Every four years, they keep asking for more. All that money my father gave me down the drain, plus more. So yes, Leida, I did sell that information, because if I didn’t, you’re not going to win the next election.”
Leida felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath her feet. “You — what?”
Her husband sneered, getting to his feet. “Everyone hates your mother, after she crippled the New Republic military. Sure, maybe a few activists here or there thought it was a good idea, but the important ones, the ones with power? There’s no chance in hell they’ll forgive her for that. So long as you cling to the Mothma name, your career is over without my money.”
“I never flaunted my lineage as a political tool!” Leida practically shouted. “I did everything I could to distance myself from her. She didn’t even endorse me!”
“But people still know who you really are,” Stekan said smoothly. “And that’s what counts. Imagine what my friends would have said if my wife had lost in a landslide.”
The disbelief and anger swirling around in Leida’s chest began to freeze into an icy fury.
“All this for your pride? Not even because you cared about me?”
“And why would I care about you?” he snapped. “Our parents married us off when we were children, with nary a consideration to what we wanted.”
Part of Leida fractured at the truth of his words. She had been so naive, convinced they could learn to love each other. Have the Chandrilan marriage she’d always dreamed of. But their parents had different ideas in mind.
“I think you need to leave,” she said quietly.
Stekan laughed, tossing his head back. “Leave? This home has been in my family for seven generations. If you’re going to keep kriffing on about this, I think you’re the one who needs to leave.”
“Fine!” she shouted, spinning on her heel and storming back through the residence. Her driver looked startled to see her when she appeared in the garage.
“Ma’am?” they asked, brow creased in confusion as she clambered into the speeder. “Where to?”
Tears began to leak down her cheeks and she instinctively said the first place that came to mind. “My mother’s.”
Scattered rain drops began to fall as the speeder set down at the Mothma country home on the outskirts of Hanna City. Leida’s eyes were still wet as she approached the front door, greeted by an older woman who led her through the manor. Much of it was as it had been during her childhood, favoring her mother’s style of tasteful minimalism. Doubt began to creep into Leida’s mind as the woman brought her into the living space and asked her to wait a moment.
Clutching her arms around herself, she sank down onto one of the sofas and stared blankly at a landscape painting of the Chandrilan plains. A singular lamp glowed softly, illuminating the space as rain began to patter more insistently against the windows. The full reality of the situation still had not hit her. What would this mean? Politically, romantically, financially, the list of ramifications this had on her life was endless.
“Leida?” a voice said softly. Leida turned around and saw her mother for the first time in twenty years. The elder Mothma’s red hair was gray now, and a map of wrinkles lined her cheeks. She wore a simple white robe and looked as if she had just been getting ready for bed.
“Mother.” Tears sprang anew to Leida’s eyes as outside the rain began to fall in earnest.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” Mon said, moving closer. She reached out a hand but then hesitated before pulling it back. “Are you all right?”
In that moment, all Leida wanted was to collapse in her mother’s arms. Her pride managed to hold her off for a few seconds before she broke down. All the years of separation and anger slid away as she flung her arms around her mother.
Mon gasped slightly, tears springing to her own eyes as her daughter sobbed into her shoulder. She had heard Leida was back on Chandrila again and had sent her a message earlier in the day . . . which had gone unanswered like all the rest. Over the years Mon had learned that she would never receive a response and so had most ceased initiating contact. But the thought of her daughter being so close and not seeing her had compelled Mon to reach out anyway. Reuniting with her daughter was something that she’d dreamed of for years while knowing it would likely never happen. Even after the war had ended, she was still unsure if she had made the correct decision in marrying Leida to the Sculdun boy. As such, she had expected that if ever mother and daughter were to be reunited it would be with impassioned words or cold fury, not with Leida crying on her shoulder in the middle of the night.
“What is it, darling?” Mon murmured, gently lowering herself and Leida to the couch, and wincing as it caused a flash of pain in her hip.
Leida did not respond, so Mon lightly rubbed circles on her back until eventually her tears began to subside. Finally, Leida pulled away, wiping at her cheeks and not meeting her mother in the eyes.
“I — I think I should go,” she said, starting to rise but Mon reached out and put a hand on her knee.
“Wait a moment, Leida. I know that you have every reason to hate me, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I’m still your mother.”
At once, Leida whipped her head up, glaring at Mon. “You have the nerve to still call yourself my mother after what you did to me?”
Mon did her best not to let desperation consume her. “I know that I failed you, Leida, and you shouldn’t forgive me. I just —”
“Just what? What excuse could you possibly have after arranging my marriage for me and then trying to talk me out of it? To follow Chandrilan custom was what I always wanted, but there you were, casting it aside as if it were nothing.” Mon sat there silently, finally beginning to understand exactly how she had wronged her daughter all those years ago. “The most important thing in my life, and you said it didn’t matter. Did I even matter to you? I never knew exactly why you decided to marry me off to the Sculduns, but I had my suspicions. You never cared for my future. You never cared for me!” By now Leida was shouting, tears once again painting her cheeks.
As her daughter broke down again, Mon held her close, feeling the weight of her failure.
“I’m so sorry, Leida.
“I’m so sorry.”
